A Thousand Reasons
by yuuki-chan14
Summary: Dean was broken, not that he wanted to admit it. Torture tended to do that to a person. Physical wounds heal, but the emotional ones...well those were a little trickier. Sam could do it though. He could put his brother back together. They were both good at picking up the pieces, after all. NOT WIncest, just good old brotherly love. Warnings: torture, language
1. And Breathe

**Okay, so this is my first official Supernatural story. I don't know where this came from. Dean just needed to be taken care of by Sam, okay. It's not my fault. Blame Dean. I guess you could blame Sam too. He likes to take care of Dean, you know. Anywhooo, this story will not be Wincest, just a lot of brotherly loving. Enjoy!**

**Also, just as a quick warning. There is mild adult themes. There is a very vague description of sexual assault in this chapter, and it probably will not get too much more detailed in future chapters.**

**Note: So decided to update this chapter. The only thing I "changed" was the beginning. There is a bit more description and extra dialogue. I thought it flowed a little better. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural nor any of its affiliates.**

* * *

"Wishing you weren't too proud to beg, Dean?" A laugh danced across the walls, swirling and blending into the screams that reverberated through the room.

The voice grated on his ears, and unconsciously he cringed. He hated that voice. Hated the maddening sing-song quality of it. _Fucking worse than nails on a chalkboard_. "Bite me," Dean managed to choke out.

Another infuriating laugh. "See. This is why I could almost like you, Dean. Almost being the key word there." A gentle hand ran a finger along his jaw. "You have such an irrational amount of…what's the word? Spirit maybe? Determination?" Footsteps gently tapped across the floor.

Dean tried to smirk. "I like to think of it as bravery."

"Bravery?" the voice spat. "You think you're being brave, Dean? Think you're being a good little soldier and showing no fear?"

"I _think_ I'm doing a damn good job of it," Dean countered.

The voice got closer, and Dean could feel the hot breath hit his face. "This little charade isn't going to keep you from getting killed. Bravery is a sham, Dean. You can pretend all you want, and you can keep telling yourself to be brave, but just know, it's a sorry excuse people like you use to pretend that they're not scared shitless. To pretend they're not already _broken. _You're broken, Dean, and the sad thing is, you don't even realize it." Lips grazed his ear. "So keep pretending. This still ends the same," the voice whispered.

To his dismay, a shiver ran down his spine just as the footsteps began to recede. "Why haven't you killed me yet then?" Dean called out, ignoring the sane part of himself that told him to just shut his mouth.

"In a hurry?" the voice was back in his ear.

"Just wondering why you're dragging this out. Demons typically cut to the chase and that's that if you know what I mean," Dean breathed.

The demon chuckled. "Is that what you think? That fact is, any demon with a shred of patience would be doing the exact same thing I am. A slow and painful death is what you deserve, Dean." It pressed a knife to his chest, tracing imaginary patterns over the damaged flesh.

The muscles in his abdomen tensed. "I could say the same about you," he muttered before mentally kicking himself.

"Ah well, agree to disagree," the demon sang, smiling as it tore open an old wound with the tip of the blade.

Dean's lips formed a hard line as he fought to keep any cries of pain at a minimum. He had already given too much away as it was. The knife traveled across his torso, and he bit down on the side of his cheek, hard.

"Can't talk anymore?" There was a quiet sigh, and Dean was vaguely aware of the sound of a knife being sharpened. He coughed to hide the cry that threatened to push its forward. He just needed to breathe. Breathe and go somewhere far away in his mind. It wasn't hard since he could already feel the merciful hands of unconsciousness tugging at the edges of his mind. When the knife plunged into his abdomen, darkness quickly consumed him.

He couldn't have slept long, he decided as his muscles were brutally shocked awake.

"Rise and shine." Cold water. Ice cold water.

Dean gagged, choking on the water that had drained into his throat. He pulled on his hands that were bound above his head, straining to get his footing on the floor again. He heard the sickening pop before he felt it. Red hot fire consumed his shoulder, and his vision blurred. His stomach churned, causing a wave of nausea to wash over him. _Shit_. More ice cold water drenched his skin. More choking, and this time he couldn't stop the onslaught of drying heaving. Water. Choking. Dark.

He thought about begging this time. Thought about it for almost a full second before, "Screw you," tumbled off his lips.

There was a sigh. "That big mouth of yours keeps you sane, doesn't it?" He didn't answer. "That's what you cling to because it's all you have left. Am I right, Dean?" He closed his eyes. "Oh speechless now, are we? That's a first," the voice whispered in his ear. "I can change that." Dean could almost hear the smile.

Suddenly he felt cool metal glide across his abdomen. It was a pole or bat of some kind. He tensed.

_Do not beg. _

Dean squeezed his eyes shut as the demon whispered something in his ear and then laughed. He felt hands pull at the hem of pants.

_Do not beg_. _Don't you dare beg._

He swallowed back the bile that had risen in his throat. Shit, where was Sam? He couldn't. He couldn't. A lump clogged his throat, but he swallowed it back down. No. Sam would find him. He just had to hold on. Just hold on.

Without warning, a sharp pain shot up his spine. It felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside. Hot tears pricked the corners of his eyes. _Fuck_. _Please, Sam. Please._

Pain.

Pain and more pain.

Consciousness sucked.

"I can kill you if you beg."

Death. Death sounded nice. It sounded so much easier. "You could try," but Dean was programmed to fight. Fight to the end. He smiled. It probably wasn't that far off anyway.

**SNSNSN**

The next time Dean woke he felt much lighter. A good lighter. His shoulders weren't aching as much and the throbbing in his neck was almost gone. Weird. He could tell he was still chained up because he could feel the cool metal rubbing into his already raw skin. He could deal with this though. A little bit of chaffing around the wrists was – wait. Why was the chain moving? Dean tried to focus, tried to bring his muddled thoughts together. He felt a hand graze his own, and then a frustrated, "Shit." Did he say that? No, he wouldn't of been able to talk that loud. His throat was too dry. Then wha –

Oh.

_Oh._

Someone was trying to cut him down.

He noticed the arm loosely wrapped around his waist that was trying to support some of his weight. _What the hell?_ Why were they moving him? What now? _What the fuck now?_ He tensed slightly, pulled back a little, but his muscles protested in response to the sudden movement, and he groaned slightly.

"Dean. It's okay. It's me. It's me." A hand cupped his cheek. He flinched, but he knew that voice. Right? He couldn't think, but it sounded so familiar. Who?

"I've almost got it. Just hold on. I'm gonna get you out of here."

Out? This voice was going to take him away from here. He was leaving? No. No, it was dream. It had to be. The only person that-

Dean choked back a sob. "Sammy?" _Please, please, please_.

"Yeah, Dean. Everything's okay now."

He let his body relax then. Sam was here. His Sammy would take care of him now. He heard a click, and then his arms fell to his side. He winced slightly. God, how long had it been? The world was spinning somehow through his closed eyes. It needed to stop because he was going to be sick soon if it didn't. He let his head fall onto the mass next to him, and then when the spinning finally slowed Dean opened his eyes. Sam was looking at him anxiously. His eyes were rimmed red. "It's good to see you," Dean whispered.

Sam tightened the grip he had around Dean's waist. "You too." He gave a half smile, but then his face darkened again. "Can you walk?"

Dean thought about the question for a second and then, "I don't know."

Sam bit his lip. "Okay. That's okay." He shifted his weight in order to better support Dean. "We can try."

Dean nodded. He could do this. One foot in front of the other. Simple. He took a step….and his leg gave out. Yeah, maybe not so simple. He took a couple of calming breaths. Why did everything have to hurt so fucking bad?

Sam glanced at him anxiously. "Dea-"

"M'fine, Sam," Dean mumbled. Because really. Everything _was_ fine now.

Sam swiped at his eyes. "I think…I think I can carry you," he whispered.

Dean thought about it for a second. He knew Sam expected him to say no, but everything hurt so bad, and he just wanted to get out of this place as quickly as possible. He nodded his head. "Yeah, okay."

Sam cleared his throat and swiped at his eyes again. _The hell, Sammy_, Dean thought. Okay, so he looked like crap. Well, maybe slightly worse than crap. Did shit have a higher ranking than crap on the holyhellwhathappenedtoyou scale? Maybe. Sam hoisted him over his shoulder. "Shit," he groaned. No, shit should definitely have the highest ranking. Or maybe fuck. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck." Oh god, make it stop. Make it stop now.

"Sorry. Sorry. I'm sorry." Sam kept repeating. "Almost there. I promise."

An eternity later, and Dean concluded Sam had lied to him. Almost was not fast enough. "Sammy. Sammy please stop." He knew his voice sounded like he was about to cry, but he couldn't actually bring himself to care. He couldn't do this anymore.

"It's right there, Dean. Right there."

Dean opened his eyes. Stars. Oh look, they were outside. When did that happen? The car door creaked open, and Dean braced himself. Sam moved him as slowly as humanly possible, but it still caused him to bite back a moan. He bit down on his bottom lip until it started bleeding. Sam ran over to the driver's side and launched himself into the car.

**SNSNSN**

Okay. Okay. Hospital. Hospital. Dean made a whimpering noise as the car hit a bump. A whimpering noise. A fucking whimpering noise. Sam tightened his grip on the steering wheel. There was a knot in his stomach. Dean groaned, and the knot started to claw its way up his throat. No, he could not be sick. Not now. Not right now. Dean groaned again. _Shit_.

Sam put on the radio. Some stupid AC/DC song that Dean had left playing before he had….disappeared was on.

_Sound of the drums beatin' in my heart. The thunder of guns tore me apart._

Yeah, not this song. He skipped to the next track.

"Music, Sam. Really?" Dean murmured incredulously.

Sam sighed, "I just…I need…" he trailed off. _I need to not think for a second._

Dean saw how white Sam's knuckles were. "Yeah," Dean said softly, "I get it." Dean stared out the window and focused on breathing. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, and god it hurt. It felt like he had been lit on fire. Or worse. In. Out. In. Out. He just needed to lay down. Lay down in a nice soft bed. Wait. His eyes widened. "Sam, where are we going?"

"Hospital."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Dean, you can't be ridiculous!" Sam yelled as he ran a hand through his hair.

"No hospitals, Sam." The tone of his voice was even, calm almost, and that scared Sam. Calm meant there was no arguing. None.

Sam cursed.

Dean continued to stare out the window. "Look, you can check me over at a motel, and then _if _you think I absolutely have to I'll go to a hospital. Okay? Please, Sam."

Sam tightened his grip on the steering wheel further. "Okay."

"Good."

Sam let out a harsh breath.

Dean moaned.

Sam turned up the radio.

* * *

**Tell me what you thought! Now, I know Dean seems in relatively good shape considering, but once all of the shock and adrenaline wears off, he's going to have a lot of inner demons to deal with. I don't have it all planned out, but hopefully this goes where I want it to, but who knows with Dean and Sam. I do hope you stick around for the ride though! Reviews are always appreciated.**


	2. To Crumble

**For some reason, this chapter was crazy hard to write. I didn't realize how hard it would be to keep Dean or Sam in character in these situations. I guess it's because I find it difficult to picture Dean letting his guard down much, but then again I feel like even Dean would eventually give in slightly after going through something like this. It's just really hard to portray that slow break, I guess is what I'm trying to say. I really hope neither of the boys were too OOC in this chapter. Please please please let me know what you think so I know if I need to fix anything. Oh and thank you so much for the reviews last chapter guys!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural nor any of its affiliates**

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The music had been doing its job relatively well considering what was happening in the seat next to him. Sam had even started humming, nervous humming that probably didn't actually follow the beat, but humming was humming. He might have sung if he had known the words. Too bad. Maybe he would make a point to actually listen to all of the songs Dean put on repeat. Dean would probably like that. Sam let out a long sigh and cast a quick glance to his right. Dean was clutching at his side with his good arm, fingers digging into what remained of his blood-soaked shirt. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing very slowly, methodically almost. Slowly in through the nose and slowly out through the mouth. Sam knew what that meant. Dean was somewhere far away.

They had both learned to do that over the years. It helped on those terrifyingly horrible incidents they found themselves in more often than not. Sam remembered the first time he saw his brother turn inward on himself like this. Dean had been sixteen then. Sixteen and reckless, their father had said as he dragged Dean into their dingy motel room late one night after a hunt. He had laid Dean on one of the beds, and all Sam could ever remember was the blood. So much blood.

_He stood still while his father ransacked the room for the first aid kit. "Thinks he can take on a god damn Wendigo on his own. Damn it." He poured out the contents of his bag onto the bed, and began rifling through the mess of clothes. "Damn it. Damn it. So reckless. So damn reckless."_

_ Sam looked over at Dean. He was so pale in contrast to all the red. He walked closer, holding his breath. Maybe it wasn't as bad as it looked. It was fine. Everything was fine. Breathe. Breathe. Sam was practically hyperventilating by the time he reached the bed. _

_Dean had his eyes squeezed shut, but his breathing was even and controlled. Sam carefully slipped his hand underneath his brothers because he didn't know what else to do. Something though. He needed to do something. It seemed like an eternity passed between them, but then Dean squeezed back lightly. "I'm fine, Sam. I'm fine." That's all he said. He didn't make another sound the rest of the night, not even when their father cleaned and bandaged the wounds. Sam cried in his stead though._

But that was Dean. That was his brother. Always strong. Even when he didn't have to be, Sam thought miserably. Dean let out a quiet moan, and Sam was back to the present. _Eyes on the road. Eyes on the road._ He stared down the seemingly endless highway but his eyes weren't actually seeing. It was just a blur of darkness interspersed with the occasional blur of lights that faded in and out of his vision. Unconsciously, his head turned to look at Dean once more. This was worse than some Wendigo though. Much much worse. "It's not much farther," he muttered, but it was more to himself than anything.

Sam started humming again, lightly drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He was vaguely aware of the fact that humming was probably not on the list of things to do while your brother was bleeding to death in the passenger seat. He heard a faint groan. No, definitely not on the list. He needed to get himself together though. He absolutely had to be able to function once they reached the motel. Calm and composed. That's what he needed to be. He was doing a damn good job of it too. His nerves had settled slightly, and he wasn't shaking anymore. Sam let out a steady breath. Maybe he was going into shock. Was that possible? Whatever the case, it was going to have to do. At least the road wasn't blurry anymore. Sam rolled his neck around, successfully popping it. His muscles relaxed, and he somehow managed to keep his stomach from trying to claw its way out. That is, until Dean started dry heaving.

It was loud, very loud. It sounded as if he was coughing up a lung while simultaneously choking on water. It also didn't help that a groan of pain followed each and every time. Sam placed a hand on Dean's shoulder. "It can't be more than two more miles."

Dean sucked in a breath. "I don't believe you anymore." More gagging. More moaning.

_Shit. _Sam veered to the right, stopping quickly on the side of the road before jumping out of the car. He had the passenger door open in seconds. He crouched down next to Dean who was already leaning his head out of the car and holding on to the door frame for support. Sam placed a gentle hand on his back and began rubbing soothing circles. "Hey, just breathe. In and out, right?" Sam looked at his brother expectantly.

"Trying, Sam. Trying," Dean croaked out. "Shit." He grabbed Sam's free hand with own and proceeded to choke and gag. Well, this was fun. Maybe he would pass out soon.

"Okay. Okay, look at me. Look at me, Dean." He stopped rubbing Dean's back and grabbed his chin, gently angling his face towards his own. "Breathe with me, Dean. Breathe. In and out." Sam kept his eyes locked with his brother's. "You can do this." He watched as the muscles around Dean's jaw slowly began to relax and then suddenly the familiar wall was back up, effectively blocking out the pain to a manageable level.

Dean's face relaxed ever so slightly. "I'm fine." He took a breath and released Sam's hand. "I'm fine. Just get me to this damn motel."

Sam held his gaze for a couple more seconds and then turned. "You got it." He was not about to point out that Dean was far from fine at the moment. He could do that later.

**SNSNSN**

The car jerked to a stop in the motel parking lot. "Sorry. Sorry," flooded out of Sam's mouth in a rush.

Dean heard the words vaguely as he squeezed his eyes shut. They sounded so far away. That probably wasn't good, he noted.

The door _creaked_ open, and suddenly Dean was consumed with the thought that he needed to fix it. He was perfectly aware that the notion was crazy. It should probably be at the bottom of his priority list at this point or maybe not on the list at all, but it was rapidly becoming the only thought that filled his head. "I need to fix that," he muttered as Sam wrapped an arm around him.

Sam paused, staring at him for a moment. "The door? Seriously, Dean?"

"What?" he asked quietly, casting his eyes downward. Sam ignored him and proceeded to place another arm under his legs. Yep, he was losing it. Dean supposed it was just his mind trying to cope with the overwhelming amount of pain he was in or maybe he had lost too many brain cells after going without oxygen during those excruciatingly long bouts of gagging. He was a mess. In the back of his mind, he knew that. He also knew that when the adrenaline finished running its course and the shock finally settled in, he would be royally fucked. Sam chose that moment to slowly lift him out of the car. He moaned, biting his tongue in the process. Yeah, royally fucked sounded about right.

The next thing Dean was aware of was being lowered down to a bed. "Front or back?" Sam asked unsure.

It took Dean a second to comprehend what his brother was saying, but then it clicked. "Front should be okay," he said slowly, and Sam carefully helped him onto his stomach. After his brother had patched up the wound on his abdomen (wordlessly) which was the most imminent threat, Sam had turned on his heel, throwing his hands up and placing them on the back of his head. Dean now watched as Sam paced the room (still wordlessly), eyes darting around but landing on nothing specific. His brother was on edge. Dean sighed, "Anytime now, Sammy."

Sam stopped. "I know. I know. I'm just trying to figure out what to do…_first_." He looked at Dean.

Well if that wasn't a loaded question, Dean thought. "Whatever you think," he ground out, making sure to smile as best he could.

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah okay. Okay." He pursed his lips. "Your shoulder's dislocated isn't it?"

Dean nodded. "Feels like it."

"We can take care of that first then." He walked over to the bed very slowly. Too slowly for Dean's tastes. It gave him too much time to think about the approaching pain, and his senses were already consumed with enough pain as it was.

"Sam."

"I know. I'm coming." Sam paused for a couple of seconds and let out a couple of slow breaths. He closed his eyes, sucked in one final gulp of air, and then opened them again. Dean smiled. He was completely focused now. _That a boy, Sammy._

Sam stood next to the bed. "Can you sit up a little if I help you?"

"Yeah." Dean shifted his weight, trying to use his good arm as leverage, but that was a mistake. His arm buckled at the elbow, landing him right back onto the bed, face down. A string of curse words followed.

"Hold up a second, would you?" Sam leaned in, wrapping gentle arms around Dean before helping him support himself on the headboard. "Alright. Ready?" He didn't wait for a response. "One, two-"

There was a sickening pop. "Fuck." He should have seen that one coming. Black spots clouded his vision, and Dean collapsed back onto the bed.

"Breathe, Dean." Sam knelt down next to him. "What else hurts?"

Dean opened his eyes. How long had he had them closed anyway? Sam repeated the question. His voice sounded so far away again. He let his eyes droop. God, what didn't hurt? _Everything_, he wanted to say. _Fucking everything_. He met Sam's gaze. His eyes were still focused. Dean pressed his lips together. Okay. Okay. Focus. Focus. "Ribs, back, ankle," he flexed his hand, wincing in the process, "maybe a couple of fingers and-" Dean stopped. No. No. No. Sam didn't need to know that. No. Not now. Not ever. He would take that one to the grave.

"And what?" Sam pressed.

Dean searched his thoughts. "And wrists. My wrists are cut up quite a bit." He watched Sam's gaze travel to where his hands were currently resting.

Sam rose to his feet. "Okay." He grabbed the first aid kit and began fishing through it. "Hey, Dean?" he said suddenly.

"Yeah?"

"If you have a couple of broken ribs, why did you have me lay you down on your stomach?" Sam was still going through the first aid kit.

"Back hurts worst," Dean said matter of factly, but still turned his head away. He wasn't lying. It did. He didn't need to tell Sam that the wounds up down his back were only half the reason.

Sam didn't answer as he walked to the bathroom. Dean wondered if Sam was going to be sick, but then he came back with a cup of water. He held it out towards Dean. "Drink. You won't want to in a little while." Dean tried to grab it with his good arm, but Sam shook his head. "Here."

He brought the cup to Dean's lips, but Dean wasn't having it. He snatched the cup away. "I can do it," he snapped.

Sam sighed, but continued to stand there as if he knew Dean would eventually give in. Dean tried to bring the cup up to his mouth, but was surprised to discover that he could not get his hand to stop shaking. He was definitely going into shock. No question about it. He glowered at the cup and then at his hand and then back at the cup.

"Trying to will it into your mouth, Dean?" Sam cut in.

Dean glared in his direction. This sucked. He let his head fall into the pillow, releasing a frustrated groan. He felt the cup being lifted up and out of his hand.

"Here, Dean," Sam said. He lifted his head and begrudgingly let Sam help him.

When he was done, Sam placed the cup on the nightstand and shuffled to the edge of the bed, grabbing the rubbing alcohol and bandages. He shuffled back. "I wish I could get you to the shower. It would clean up the wounds a lot better."

Dean lifted his head slightly. "As much fun as that sounds, Sammy, it's not happening. I'm not planning on moving any time soon."

"I know. I was just thinking out loud, I guess." Sam sat on the bed next to Dean. "Ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

Sam cut away the remainder of his shirt, and Dean pretended not to hear the quiet gasp that rolled off of his brother's lips. Instead, he focused on gritting his teeth and steadying his shaking body. He could handle this. He _could_ handle this, right?

He didn't have time to ponder the question much before Sam began to wipe away the blood, carefully dabbing at the wounds that marred and crisscrossed his back. Dean gasped in response, hand reaching out to grab the edge of the headboard. "Fuck, Sammy. Fuck."

"I'm sorry," he whispered so quietly that Dean almost missed it.

Sam continued with the slow, careful strokes. Up and down. Up and down. Dean imagined they were probably the lightest touches humanly possible, but that didn't stop the trail of fire they left in their wake. Dean started to tremble, started to gasp for air because god it hurt. It hurt so bad. He needed to breathe. Needed to fucking breathe. Now. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, trying to suppress the scream that was building in the back of his throat. Up and down. Up and down. It didn't work, and before he knew it he was screaming. "Fuck. Please stop. Please stop, Sammy." He choked down the bile in his throat. "Oh god. Oh god. Oh god." He squeezed the headboard harder and bit down on his lower lip.

Sam blinked, fighting back the moisture that was gathering in the corners of his eyes. "Hold on. I promise it'll be over soon."

The pain had to reach a peak eventually, Dean thought. He kept waiting for it to level off, but it kept building. Building and building until he found himself begging, and Dean did not beg. Not ever. He had proved that back _there_.

This was different though. There was no more adrenaline, no more will to fight. It was gone, and his mind and body were just so exhausted. "Fuck fuck fuck," he whimpered, not caring that he had just allowed tears to fall freely. "I can't, Sam. I can't. Please, Sammy. Please." He pressed his face into the pillow, screaming curses and hoping to god it was almost over.

And then mercifully, after what seemed like hours, Sam lifted off the bed. Dean sucked in ragged breaths of air and continued to curse into the pillow. "Son of a bitch," he groaned. He heard the bathroom door slam shut. _Shit. Shit. Shit._ He was so screwed. The adrenaline was gone, replaced by nothing but sheer exhaustion both emotionally and physically. He was falling. Falling into a black hole of nothing, and he knew there wasn't going to be any getting out of it any time soon. His body was shaking uncontrollably now, the final stages of shock settling in. Dean curled up, pressing his head into his chest. How had he managed to keep up even the smallest conversation up until now? He balled his hand into a fist, squeezing his eyes shut even further. _Damn it_. The chances of his body shutting down for a few days were very high at this point.

**SNSNSN**

Sam had left Dean without a word. He hadn't actually meant to slam the door closed. It had just sort of happened. His mind was a mess and his stomach was in knots and his head refused to stop pounding in his ears. He was going to be sick. He leaned his head over the toilet bowl and proceeded to gag and gag and then gag some more. This was not the calm and composed he had had in mind. No, not by a long shot. He should have been prepared for this. He had known Dean was pretty badly injured, and naturally, cries of pain should come along with such injuries. _Should have been better prepared._ Sam slammed his fist into the ground. But this was _Dean_ he was talking about. How could he of ever prepared for those screams, those god awful screams? Sam clutched at his heart. His chest hurt. God, did it hurt.

This was in part his fault. He couldn't get the thought out of his head. It had taken him a full week to find Dean. A full fucking week. There were so many things that Dean could have been put through in that span of time. The possibilities were endless. His reflection in the mirror stared back, mocking and taunting him. _One week. One week_. He splashed cold water on his face. There was no way he could waste time thinking about this. Not right now. Quickly, he wiped his face with his sleeve. He was not crying. Sam cleared his throat for the umpteenth time before deciding he needed to finish going over Dean's injuries. Dean came first. He always came first.

Slowly, he opened the door only to see Dean curled up in a ball. His heart plummeted once again at the sight. He walked over without a word because he didn't trust himself to talk and then ran a gentle hand through Dean's hair. Sam was not expecting for Dean's eyes to snap open nor was he expecting the wild look that crossed Dean's features. He removed his hand quickly. "It's me. It's just me."

Dean's eyes locked on his and then he nodded, closing his eyes once more. Sam's chest tightened. He did not like that reaction. At all. It meant Dean was losing this fight. The wall in Dean's mind was cracking, fragmenting. In the back of his mind, he knew it needed to happen for Dean to heal. It needed to break completely so they could start to pick up the pieces again. What scared Sam though was the other thought that sat in the back of his head. It was the blindingly scary truth that he didn't know what was behind that wall.


	3. Tortured Souls

**Somehow, this ended up being a chapter completely about Sam. I wasn't planning on it, but Sam just has a lot of thoughts sometimes, you know. I tried to keep the boys as in character as possible, but they may have drifted a little bit towards the end (hopefully not too much). Let me know how you feel about them in this chapter. **

**As a side note, I did update chapter one. I didn't change anything, just added some dialogue and description to the beginning. Check it out if you want. Also, as a warning this chapter contains hints at the assault but again, nothing descriptive. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural nor any of its affiliates. **

* * *

Sam rolled over onto his side, briefly glancing at the red glow of numbers on the nightstand that read _2:45 a.m_. He pressed his palms to his eyes, pushing lightly. It wasn't that he was tired. In fact, he was more awake and alert than he had been for a while, which was the problem. No matter how hard he tried, he could not get his mind to stop _working_. It kept replaying the day's events, kept teasing his emotions. One minute he would be angry, and then the next second he would be scared and upset.

Sam turned onto his back, counting his breaths, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. He let his head fall to the left and took in the sight of Dean's sleeping form. He could really only see a dark mass, but it still started a tingling in his chest. Sam couldn't help but think how small his brother looked curled in on himself like that. He put a hand over his heart and closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable onslaught of way too vivid memories.

Dean hadn't said another word when Sam had assessed the rest of his injuries. He kept his eyes shut tight and his muscles tensed, as if waiting for another blow or cut. It scared Sam so much that he had started babbling about god knows what because he sure couldn't remember. Sam hoped at least the sound of his voice had calmed Dean down a little, brought him back to the present.

The worst was when Sam set his ankle. He had given Dean a belt to bite down on, told him it would help, but really, Sam just couldn't bare to hear any more screams that night. It had already taken so much out of him. The belt helped to an extent, but Dean's eyes still glassed over with pain. He laid there with his fists clenched for so long that Sam had thought the waves of agony would never pass. He kept whispering short reassurances, but he knew they meant nothing. Dean probably couldn't hear them anyway.

The rest had gone by in a blur of muffled moans and sweat, but then it was over and Dean proceeded to pass out quickly. Sam silently thanked the heavens for that one. He sat on the edge of Dean's bed for a while, watching the rise and fall of his chest. The lamp on the nightstand was still on, and unconsciously, Sam began to count the cuts and scars that adorned his brother's face. He noticed the crease in his brow and the soft wrinkles around his eyes. His body reacted on its own, and Sam placed a careful hand on his shoulder. "You're home, Dean. You're home. I've got you," he had said gently, and Dean's face relaxed. Sam sighed, slipping from the bed and onto his own.

That had only been an hour ago. Time was moving unbearably slow, and it didn't seem like it was going to get any better any time soon. Sam opened his eyes, and deciding he needed to wash up, sauntered over to the bathroom and closed the door before turning on the shower. It only took him a second to realize his mistake, and so he turned back around, pushing to door open half way. He returned to the sink, pressing his hands into the counter and hanging his head. How was he going to do this? This wasn't something he could hide or run away from. This was his flesh and blood. This was his _life_. He slammed his hand into the counter, clinging to the light stings of pain that now ran up his arm. This was all so messed up, he thought bitterly.

His thoughts traveled back to an hour prior, and he bit down on his lip as he remembered the whip marks that had trailed down Dean's back and the grotesquely twisted ankle. He thought about the broken fingers and cringed. _Four broken fingers and two broken ribs_. He hadn' t even been able to count all of the cuts and bruises. So much blood and pain and suffering.

He wanted so much to kill the bastard who did this over and over and over again.

How dare he.

How fucking _dare _he.

Sam slammed his hand back down, clenching his teeth before taking several calming breaths. He could feel his blood beginning to boil and now, like usual, was not the time. His heart rate began to slow, but then, with a jolt, he remembered the blood stained pants.

Sam had blocked that part out because it was too much for him to handle, but it pushed its way out of his subconscious and was now staring him in the face. His breathing picked back up again, flowing out in harsh gasps.

Why was the back of Dean's pants stained with blood?

He knew the answer.

He knew.

He had known what Dean was going to say when he was rattling off injuries. He had known, but when Dean didn't mention it, his mind clung to the possibility that it was something else, that he was just jumping to conclusions. Maybe he was. He tended to do that a lot, so maybe this was one of those times.

Sam squeezed his eyes closed. It wasn't….It wouldn't of-

His mind was slammed with another memory. This one made him dizzy, made him nauseous because he hadn't connected the dots before. It's what the demon had said before he killed it, before he had found Dean. He clenched his jaw.

_"He screamed your name, Sammy," the demon snarled. "Over and over and over. I made sure to bring the whip down harder every time." It chuckled then. _

_"Enough!" Sam screamed, trying to control his shaking voice. _

_The demon smiled. "Oh, but you're going to miss the best part." It tilted its head to the side. "I came up with something even more fun after that, and he screamed like a little bitch," it laughed. _

_Sam yanked the demon up by the collar of its shirt. "Shut up. Shut up now!"_

_"Or what? You'll kill me?" it sneered before bringing its face closer to Sam's. "I broke him, Sam. Tore him up from the inside out," it whispered. _

Sam flexed his jaw, swirling his tongue around and pressing it against the roof of his mouth. He was wrong. He had to be wrong. Those words could have meant anything. He marched over to the shower, switching the water to cold before throwing himself in.

**SNSNSN**

The sound of very quiet whimpering roughly shook Sam awake. He sat up quickly, noting that his hair was still wet. He couldn't have been out of it for more than twenty minutes. He rubbed his eyes, squinting them open slightly until he could see the vague outline on the bed next him.

Grogginess gripped the recesses of his mind, and he struggled momentarily to remember what exactly had woken him. He stared at Dean who was still knocked out before glancing around the dark room. He furrowed his brow, lightly scratching the back of his head. What had he heard?

Sam turned to face Dean again, cocking his head to the side. What did-

Oh.

Right.

He stood and exhaled lightly, pausing to stretch his overwrought muscles just as Dean began to jerk violently in his sleep.

Sam froze for a good two seconds before reason flooded his senses once more. He reacted swiftly, throwing himself onto his brother's bed and grabbing hold of his hands in the process.

Dean tried to pull away. "Let go. Let go! Stop! I ca-…Please!" he screamed, causing Sam to flinch.

He secured both of Dean's wrists with one of his hands and then gently, he used some of his weight to keep him still. "Hey. Hey, you're okay, Dean. You're okay." Sam pressed a hand to his brother's forehead which was covered in sweat. "Come on, man. Wake up. You're okay," the words came out a lot quieter than he intended.

Still though, his voice seemed to have an effect, and Dean stopped his frantic movements. "Sam?" he asked timidly, as if scared of the response.

Sam let out a breath. "Yeah," he let go of Dean's hands, "right here."

He nodded, releasing a long sigh. Sam took that as his cue to get up, and so cautiously, he stood on his now shaky legs before clambering onto the edge of his bed. He propped his elbows on his knees and rested his head on his hands.

His mind was a blank slate, and Sam wondered briefly whether that was better than the never-ending thoughts. On the one hand he was calmer. Much calmer. But it was an empty feeling, a sickly numb sensation that started at his toes and slowly worked its way to his head, making it hard to breathe. He closed his eyes, willing the feeling away.

The steady beating of his heart brought him back, and he was quick to grab hold of it. He stood then and remembering how sweaty Dean had been to the touch, decided to switch the comforter with a light sheet. He gently lifted the heavy blanket off of his brother and tossed it on the floor in a heap. There weren't any extra linens, so Sam grabbed the sheet from his own bed and dragged it over.

Even without any light, Sam could tell Dean's skin was still slick with sweat and that worried him. He needed to take off Dean's thick jeans. He knew he needed to, but damn it, he couldn't have him waking up.

He restrained a groan and with hesitation, kneeled down and attempted to pull off Dean's pants which, Sam noted, were way too big for him now. God, he had lost so much weight. Sam bit down on his lip as he continued to carefully work the jeans off, pausing whenever Dean shifted.

He was about half way when he heard crying.

Crying?

Crying.

But that couldn't be, right?

He had to be hearing things because there was just no way. But then he heard the most pitiful whimper, "No. Please don't. Please no."

Sam swore he felt his heart jump to his throat. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Trying again, he closed his mouth and swallowed down the lump. "No one's going to hurt you, Dean. It's just me," he whispered.

Sam started to say something more, but Dean's voice cut in. "Sam. Just Sam," he mumbled.

"I'm just taking these off so you can cool down a little bit. You'll feel bett-"

"God, it hurt so bad, Sam," Dean choked out and Sam's breath hitched in his throat. "Hurt so bad I thought I was dying. I wished I was dying. God, Sammy…"

Sam couldn't move, couldn't bring himself to move. Why was Dean telling him this? This wasn't like him. He slowly lifted his head, only to find Dean's eyes still glued shut, his chest rising and falling softly. He was still asleep even as his mouth moved over a flood of words, Sam only catching some of them. "Wished…..prayed…first time…could die. All I wanted. All I…help me…god, help me. I…I….it was metal. Pole I think…hurt so bad. Can't…" and then nothing.

His heart didn't jump to his throat this time. No, it stayed in his chest, shattering into a shit ton of pieces. Sam chewed on his lip as he finished removing his pants. Dean's wasn't going to remember this when he woke up, and Sam didn't know if that was a good or bad thing.

He laid the sheet over his brother almost mechanically before walking outside. He needed air. The numb feeling was back, only this time he couldn't breathe at all.

He sucked in ragged breaths of cool air, savoring the little bit he managed to pull into his lungs. He paced back and forth in front of the door, trying for the life him to not black out. Dean's words kept pushing themselves into the forefront of his head, pounding into his ears. He had never seen Dean so vulnerable, never seen Dean so emotional.

He thought of the demon's words.

Thought of the blood stained pants.

Dean's words.

Dean crying.

_Help me_.

His world was spinning. Spinning and spinning in a blur of black and red, and he still couldn't breathe. He felt so lost, felt so helpless because no matter what happened from this point forward he couldn't change the past. He couldn't _fix_ anything. That thought killed him, but he didn't have enough energy to fight it off, so he let it eat at him. Let it consume him as he sank to the ground, muffling sobs into his sleeve.


	4. It's All Okay

**So I'm really sorry this chapter took so long to post and that it's relatively short. Don't hurt me! I've just been so busy with work and school which is such a typical excuse, but it's true! I promise the next chapter will be longer since there really isn't a ton going on in this one. It's really just a set up for the next one. Also, I apologize if the beginning seems a little bit disjointed. It wasn't completely intentional, but I think I can get away with it considering what's going on. **

**Anyway, thanks so much for the reviews! You guys are the best! Keep them coming.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural nor any of its affiliates. **

* * *

Falling probably wasn't the word most people used to describe unconsciousness, but that's exactly how Dean felt. He was suffocating, and for the life of him, he couldn't shake the anxiety that crept through his whole being.

It was dark, but not the pitch black, no light kind.

There was just…nothing.

It was like being blind and deaf and without a sense of touch all at the same time, and it made Dean feel so lost, gave him vertigo because he was nothing without his senses.

It was similar to drowning. Drowning was probably a more accurate word than falling, he decided, since falling implied there was something to _fall to_, a bottom of sorts, and as far as Dean knew, this place didn't have one of those. So yes. Drowning it was then (accompanied by the always wonderful stomach dropping sensation associated with falling).

Hmm.

Whatever.

Falling, drowning. Same thing.

To say that it mattered would be a lie, except for the fact that there really wasn't too much else to think about.

Or too much else he could think about for that matter.

The only thing Dean was aware of was the overwhelming unease that coursed through his veins. Something was wrong. _This_, whatever it was, was wrong. He was certain. The problem was he couldn't remember why.

To his dismay, he had no memory of anything. Oh, he knew there were memories trapped in his brain somewhere, but his head refused to cooperate.

So he continued to float or drown or fall through darkness, letting the fog and haze cloud his mind because it was so much easier than fighting. He was too tired, and in all honesty, too scared to even try. Whatever was hiding in his subconscious probably wasn't good. Actually, it was probably really bad.

Like _really_ bad.

And it could wait.

He'd try again later.

After what could have easily been an eternity, Dean became aware of a very quiet sound. It almost seemed to hum through the air, slicing rifts in the blackness.

_Yeah…I don't know._

_It's just…._

_…_

_Yeah it's bad._

_….thanks, Bobby._

_…_

_I'll call you when he wakes up. _

Oh.

He knew what the sounds were now.

Words.

Someone was talking. He didn't know who, and he didn't know what they were saying, but despite all that, it felt _familiar_. It felt _safe_. So he followed it, let it pull him to the border of his little dark hole, and then he cautiously brushed the surface.

No.

_No. No. No. _

Fire erupted through his body, and he shrank back, curling in on himself. The pain was bearable, but there was something else there. Something he couldn't remember. Something he didn't want to remember. He couldn't deal with it.

Not yet.

So he sank back into the abyss until the fog consumed him again.

He recognized the voice the second time. It was hushed and airy, and Dean had to strain to hear it.

_If you sleep any longer, I'm going to go crazy, Dean. _

_I'm running out of things to do, man. _

_…_

_…already. I even washed the car. Your car, I might add. _

_She thanked me….said you were neglecting her. _

_Seriously, Dean? How long has it been since you've given her a proper wash? _

_…_

_I might have to take her off your hands if you don't get up soon. _

_…._

_Just wake up, okay? _

Sam.

Sam wanted him to open his eyes.

Dean struggled towards the barrier once more. He knew where he was now, and he knew why.

If memory served correctly then Dean was laying on a bed in some motel in, well in some no-name town. He was at the cusp of consciousness, only it was a lot more difficult to push through this time around. The part of himself that was screaming for him to stay, to hide for a while longer, was putting up a fight. It didn't matter now though, he screamed back.

Because he knew.

He remembered.

Hiding wasn't an option anymore. He would deal. Always had.

And his little brother needed him.

With that, Dean gave one last push and was shot into a blinding white light.

**SNSNSN**

Dean woke with a start, eyes bursting open and breaths coming out in harsh gasps. An orange glow was filtering in through the window, splaying shadows across the room. He glanced around a moment longer, gaze finally settling on Sam, who was sitting at the desk completely absorbed in his laptop screen. Dean stared for a while as he mentally assessed his injuries. Most of them only caused a dull ache or weak burn which was good, but it probably also meant he had been out for some time.

He swallowed. Sam was still staring at the screen. _Well, now or never_. Dean cleared his throat.

Sam's head shot up so fast that Dean swore he had just given himself whiplash. "Hey," he said, blatantly ignoring his brother's shock or surprise or whatever.

Sam scrambled out of the chair, knocking it over in the process. "H-hey," he choked out as he sped over to Dean's bed, effectively tripping over his own feet on the five foot journey.

Dean chuckled as Sam knelt down. "Way to play it cool, Sammy," he rasped before clearing his throat again. God, he sounded terrible. Somewhere between car brakes and a cat hiss.

"I-you…are you," he was tripping over his words, and Dean couldn't help but find it amusing. He widened his eyes and nodded his head, coaxing Sam on. "Uh," Sam ran a hand over his face, closed his eyes, opened them again. "How are you feeling," he breathed.

And there it was. He could answer this question about a million different ways and get a million different responses all of which he didn't want to deal with. Obviously, 'fine' wasn't going to cut it because well, even Sam would see through that lie. So he just shook his head, smiled slightly. "I've been better," he decided, and that was the truth.

Sam let out a breath. "Yeah? And here I thought this was one of your finer moments," he said, leaning back onto his hands, and as his brother's face relaxed Dean knew he had answered correctly. "Oh, shit. Let me get you some water." Sam was already half way to the bathroom by the time he finished the sentence.

Dean sighed and glanced around the room again, noting the disarray of everything, which was odd, since Sam tended to be the neater one. He always gave his brother a hard time about that one just because. Truth was, however, Sam's organizational skills kept him sane most of the time. Someone had to keep things in order after all. Maybe Dean would lay off the girl jokes for a while because, quite honestly, a messy Sam was unnerving. He counted the strewn out shirts and jeans and empty food containers.

Yeah he definitely would.

He shook his head. _He_ wasn't even this bad. Three shirts, a pair of jeans, and oh wait, look. A second pair-

Covered in blood.

His blood.

Dean turned away, pressed his face into the pillow and took several shaky breaths. They weren't his. They weren't _his_.

Stop thinking.

Stop.

He focused on the sound of running water just a few feet away and the screech of cars just beyond the door. He listened to his heart beating, felt the rapid pounding against his chest and willed it to slow down.

He was fine.

He would be fine.

Footsteps echoed across the floor, and Dean lifted his head, threw out another casual smile as he grabbed the cup. He downed it in one swig. "Thanks."

"Yeah, no problem." He heard the rattling of keys. "Hey, I'm gonna go get you something to eat. I know you're probably starving.

Dean nodded.

The door creaked open and then clicked shut.

He was fine.

He would be fine.

Or so help him, god, he would pretend to be.


	5. To Play Pretend

**Okay, excuse numero dos. My muse decided it would be fun to jump off a cliff and into a deep, dark hole only to re-emerge two weeks later. Seriously. It did. And then it laughed when it still took me a billion years to write this chapter. I did it though! And for once, I kind of, sort of like this chapter? Which is weird because I tend to be super anti-my-own-writing (yes, I know. way to self promote). I guess I liked it because Dean, was well, awake and talking somewhat. Yay for brotherly moments! **

**On another note I want to thank the reviewers and followers and even lurkers. You guys are awesome! I'm telling you, you all do wonders for my motivation so thanks!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural nor any of its affiliates. **

* * *

Sam was going overboard with the once over.

He should have been expecting it, but _this_- this was a whole new level even for Sam. Dean took a deep breath in and released it. "You sure you're not having any trouble breathing?"

Dean pursed his lips. "Sam, so help me god, if you ask me that one more time…," he started, but Sam was already backing away with the stethoscope, or wait, _stolen_ stethoscope in hand. "I can't believe you."

"He left it sitting on the counter, Dean," Sam muttered as if that made it okay.

That wasn't the point. "Yeah with all the other medical whatever, right?"

"Right," Sam nodded and then glared in his direction. "Why are _you_ giving me a hard time about this." The 'you' in that statement came out slightly accusatory, and Dean wasn't sure whether he should be offended or not. "We've stolen cars plenty of times, and I'm pretty sure those are a little bit more noticeable than some Band-Aids."

Dean's eyes traveled to the bottles of painkillers and piles of bandages that sat next to the stethoscope and IV. Sam released a huff of air. "Shut up. We're not being technical. Don't change the subject," he cleared his throat. "I'm not going to apologize for your newfound morals."

The daggers Sam was shooting him almost made his own glare falter. Sam was missing the point. Okay, well, maybe not missing it per se because he wasn't exactly being obvious, but his facial expressions spoke volumes, right? "So not the point, Sam," Dean mumbled under his breath and plopped back down onto his pillow.

Sam took a couple of steps forward. "Then what is it?" Dean noticed Sam's eyes had softened. He was giving him that look now. It was somewhere between pity and worry.

He turned his head away. "Nothing." He wasn't going to tell Sam that his babying him was making him nauseous – that all of the attention was making it too real. He wasn't fragile. He wasn't going to break.

There was a groan. "Why do you do that, Dean? Talk to me. Tell me something." A hand grazed his shoulder.

He told himself he didn't tense up at the contact because he _didn't. _The hand still hovered there, and so he turned, effectively knocking it off and angled his head so Sam could see half his face. He smiled. "That's all for today, Nurse Sammy. How about I call you if I need something," he winked mechanically and then turned back around, hoping his brother just dropped it.

Sam sighed heavily, and Dean watched as the shadow splayed across the wall receded. "Get some sleep, Dean."

"You too."

**SNSNSN**

_"Ready for it?" Laughing. "I don't know why I always ask. You never are."_

_Dark. It's dark. Too dark. _

_Laughing and pain and screaming. He's screaming. _

_Over and over and over. _

_Darkdarkdark. _

_Stop._

_Please._

_He needs to breathe, but there's no air. _

_He's suffocating, and it won't end. Won't. _

_Won't._

His eyes flew open, and he sat up so fast it made his spin. The air he sucked in didn't seem to be doing any good, seeing as how he was still seeing black dots dance across his vision. The lamp on the desk was still on, and so Dean focused on the light, making sure to remind himself that here there was light. It was dark _there_. Light _here_. It helped some, and when he caught hold of the sound of Sam's soft snoring, it brought him back completely.

Who would of thought he would ever be thankful for Sam's obnoxious snore? Dean could almost laugh. He'd have to be sure to thank him for it later. Sam would probably think he was crazy, but that was okay. Crazy was better than dead. Maybe.

Dean shook his head, pressed his fingers on the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache coming on. Great. Just great. He hung his feet off the edge of the bed, deciding a shower might help or if not, it certainly couldn't hurt.

With great effort, Dean managed to stand up. He supported himself on his right leg, using the furniture to keep his balance as he hobbled towards the bathroom. He wiped away the sweat beading on his forehead from the overexertion. Almost there. Almost-

"What are you doing?" Sam asked, quickly rubbing the grogginess from his face and jumping out of his seat.

Dean rolled his eyes, mentally cursing himself for not being able to move faster. "Just a shower, Sam. You gonna let me do that?" He continued his trek towards the bathroom door.

His brother was hovering over him a couple of seconds later, and Dean weighed the odds of him being able to make an escape. They were unlikely to say the least. "Here. Let me help you," Sam said as he maneuvered his body in a way that supported half his weight.

Dean's stomach dropped, and he tried to shift away, but his little brother held him tight. "Sam," Dean whispered, "I don't need help."

He felt Sam's stomach muscles tense. "The hell you don't."

And still no escape route. Damn it.

Dean let Sam pull him, willing the nerves that coursed through his body to fucking stop. He closed his eyes and breathed. Breathed in and out until his lungs felt like bursting. Everything was fine. It was all hunky fucking dory. There was no demon, just Sam. It was just Sam pressed against him. Just-

_Gonna make you scream like a little bitch._

No. No. Focus. Breathe.

He felt his mouth moving, but he couldn't hear anything over the roaring in his ears. Did he say something? Or was it Sam? Someone else? But there wasn't anyone else here. Then the rational part of his brain told him it really didn't matter. What mattered was that he start breathing again.

So he did. He listened to the voice that was talking again and started to suck air back into his lungs. Soon enough, his head stopped swimming, and his body stopped shaking, and he was in the present once more.

He let out one last breath, and then slowly, he cracked open his eyes. Sam was looking at him with that damn face again.

They were in the bathroom now, steam from the shower already fogging up the mirror. He was leaning heavily against the wall, Sam only a foot or so away. The air was thick and wet and warm, but Dean still found himself shivering. "Sam get out, please." He didn't recognize his own voice. It was too small, too broken sounding to be his.

Sam held his hands up in a very non-threatening manner. "I just want to help you get in, Dean. That's all. It's just me," he said steadily, and god his voice sounded so scared.

Dean dug his nails into his palm. This was Sam. This was _Sammy_. He was here, not _there, _and he was acting ridiculous. He opened his eyes (when had he closed them?), and pushed himself upright, away from the wall. "Sam," he said again, but this time it came out stronger, firmer. "I'm fine. Now let me take a shower in peace."

He could see the wheel's turning in Sam's head, and the argument trying to spill itself off his brother's lips, but then his face relaxed in resignation, and he nodded. "Yeah, okay." He turned on his heel. "Just let me know if you need anything," he said as he closed the door.

Dean let out a breath, and ran his hands over his face. They came away wet.

Sweat. He was sweating.

He slowly lowered himself into the shower, sitting on the bathtub floor. He angled himself in a way so the water gently hit his face and cascaded over his shoulders and back. He took a shaky breath, laughed lightly, ignoring the way his throat hitched and constricted.

Why was he so damn pathetic? He was being absolutely ridiculous. He was home, and he was with Sam. He was fine. Everything was fucking fine.

He cleared his throat and swallowed a couple of times. His chest was starting to feel tight. The water still glided over his face.

He would be up and around in one week, two weeks tops, and then everything would go back to normal. It would be great. They would start hunting again, and Sam would start giving him a hard time about everything. It would be like nothing happened. Nothing-

_…make you scream-_

Stopstopstop.

Here. Here with Sam. Nothing. Nothing _did_ happen.

He chuckled, granted it was a weird sounding chuckle, but whatever. Didn't matter. He kept chuckling, only pausing to cough every so often because something was in his throat, and it hurt. God it hurt, and the laughing seemed to make it worse, but he couldn't stop.

Great. Everything was great because he was fine-

Dean hung his head as the laughs subsided, noting the water still dripping down his face.

Just fine.

**SNSNSN**

Sam closed the door hesitantly and slowly made his way over to the bed, collapsing onto it in a heap. He turned onto his back, eyes staring at the ceiling and began to trace the cracks. He followed one particularly long crack, discovering it lead to a yellow stain in the corner of the ceiling. A sigh escaped his lips, and he wondered how old this place was. Wondered how many people had stayed in this room.

Wondered how many people had stayed here and felt like their world was ending.

Sam closed his eyes, trying and failing to ignore the sound of running water a few feet away and, if he listened close enough, the sound of hushed sobs. He pressed his palms to his temples and massaged the area gently. He couldn't get Dean's face out of his head. The way he had looked at him like – like he didn't know who he was.

And then he had started hyperventilating, started talking incoherently, and Sam had frozen. Dean easily wretched himself out of his grasp, and all Sam could do was stare.

Then there were tears, and Dean was talking again. Mumbling to himself and shaking, and maybe that was when Sam's brain started to function again because before he knew what he was doing, words were spilling out of his mouth in a rush. He remembered uttering meaningless reassurances, thinking how stupid it all sounded, but when Dean's breathing began to slow, it coaxed him on. He had kept talking until his brother opened his eyes.

Then he had just left. Sure, Dean had asked him to, but it wasn't like Sam to not put up a fight. He could argue with Dean over anything and everything, and he probably got his way half the time or more. It was one of his strong points. But he couldn't bring himself to put up any kind of fight this time. He had been caught too off guard, and he couldn't be sure his staying wouldn't have done more harm than good.

Sometimes Dean needed to figure things out himself. Only sometimes though.

He would be better prepared next time, and Dean was going to talk to him whether he liked it or not.

The shower cut off abruptly then, and Sam steeled his nerves. His eyes flicked back to the ceiling for a moment, but then he decided his laptop screen was probably a slightly more inconspicuous cover for looking busy. He grabbed it quickly and jumped back onto the bed, cringing as it creaked. _Way to go, Sam_.

The bathroom door swung open not a second later, and Sam made sure to count to three before looking up. Dean had the towel wrapped loosely around his waist, his right hand keeping it in place as his left supported his weight on the desk. Sam made a move to help but quickly stopped himself and returned his gaze to the laptop screen. The last time he had tried to assist his brother hadn't exactly ended too well. He stared at the home login screen, briefly thinking it would be more convincing if he maybe opened a webpage or typed something. He tapped on the keys, pressed his lips together. _Don't look up. Don't look up. _His eyebrows knit together, and Sam hoped it looked like he was in deep thought and not like he was about to come apart at the seams.

Then there was a crash, and Sam sprung off the bed on pure instinct. It took him only a second to find the source of the sound. Dean grinned at him sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. "Wasn't me?"

Sam eyed the shattered glass cup and shook his head. "It's fine. I'll get it." He walked over slowly, making sure not to make any sudden movements, but Dean just cast him a passing glance and then continued towards his bed.

He let out a content groan when he managed to situate himself comfortably on the mattress. "Ah I could get used to this. Didn't even call, and you came running." Dean placed his hands behind his head, laughing off the sting as he jostled his broken fingers.

Sam's eyes never left the floor.

"Don't be like that, Sam. I didn't even crack a nurse joke this time," he jibed. "Had two or three in mind too."

Sam continued picking up the glass one piece at a time.

"Oh come on. Stop boring holes into the floor and look at me."

Dean's happy go lucky attitude was doing wonders for Sam's stomach. This was not _okay_.

"Cat got your tongue?" Dean laughed then coughed a couple of times. "I'll tell you what. If I had known going missing for a few days would get you to stop talking, I would of done it a long time ago." He paused for a minute. "Well, minus the torture part. It's not the most pleasant thing in the world, I guess. Let's see. Torture or a nagging Sam? Tough one."

Sam's stomach grumbled uneasily.

"I would have to say-"

"Stop it!" Sam cut in. "Just stop." He dared a glance at Dean whose smile had faltered only slightly.

"Don't get your panties in twist, Sammy," he said and then smiled a little too big.

Sam dropped onto his bed. "You can't do this, Dean," he whispered. "You can't do this to yourself."

His brother's face dropped momentarily, but then he smirked. "Who's older, Sam?"

He piqued his head to the side. "You?" he said in a daze.

"Exactly." Dean's face lit up like he had just won the mother of all arguments. "I believe that gives me the right to do whatever the hell I want."

"You've got to be kidding."

Dean shook his head. "Uh no. Don't think so."

Sam let his shoulders droop, halfheartedly trying to fend off the nausea that engulfed his stomach. "Look, I know you don't like to talk about these things, but I'm your brother, man. You can't pretend that – you can't keep pretending, Dean. Just talk to me," he said dejectedly because he knew how this conversation ended.

Sure enough, Dean rolled over, purposefully facing away from him. "As much fun as this chick flick moment sounds, Sammy-"

"You'd rather sleep," Sam mumbled.

He could almost hear the too-big-smile in Dean's voice. "You guessed it."

"Yeah, okay."

But, of course, it wasn't okay. How could it be?

* * *

**So extra extra side note. How did you guys feel about Dean's little break down? Believable? Did you pick up on it or no? I have a really hard picturing Dean sobbing, so I tried to portray it in different way. I'm not sure if it even worked. Eh, that was my attempt. Your feedback would be greatly appreciated. Also, if all goes according to plan, next chapter should have way more brotherly bonding. So just something to look forward to. Thanks again for reading! **


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